The Heartwood Fear of power invisible.

Note to self - he has a deep bite wound on his neck from previous thread.

Of all the creatures he'd expected to cross paths with here, this woman from the seaside was not one of them. Her voice carried to him between the trees and he turned his head sluggishly, like a bear still half asleep, and watched as she slunk closer. She was smaller than his sisters — although they were the first to enter his mind, they quickly left it when he studied her — and her voice was almost frail, much more shy than anything they would utter.

He did not know her, whoever this was had been a brief visitor to his life, and upon departing this wilderness she had been purged from his memory. He grunted all the same — yes, that is me. He appraised her, as he did most being he came across, and deemed her unthreatening; except, it was odd that she knew his name, especially after so many months off doing his own thing.

She did not smell like Moonspear; just salt, wind, and wolves he did not know. His stare was blank. You know me? He queried a moment later, squinting.